


Greyscale Blues

by Darke_Eco_Freak



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: 1930s, B steps up and helps Noir with his emotion, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Noir has an emotion and freaks out, Wade's there because I wanted him there, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 18:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darke_Eco_Freak/pseuds/Darke_Eco_Freak
Summary: When Benjamin doesn't check in, the kids get worried and when the kids get worried, it's time for Spider-Cop to step in. Alternatively: Peter B knows what it's like falling in love with someone and being scared out of his mind about it. Thankfully for Noir, Pete got over it and he can too with some good ole tlc and eggcreams





	Greyscale Blues

When he gets back home, the first thing he does is put away his miraculous cube. He pries up a floorboard with shaking hands and shoves his treasure into the cramped space. Benjamin knows it’s not the best hiding place, anyone would look there, but it’s all he’s got.

The second thing he does pay Ms Hardy a visit.

He goes while his legs are still trembling and his wrists are still tight. He goes while he feels like someone ripped him apart and stitched him back together with the wrong thread, the wrong needles. Benjamin knows he shouldn’t— _ she doesn’t  _ ** _want_ ** _ him, she  _ ** _hates_ ** _ him _ —but he can’t stop himself.

He’s been gone too long, stuck in a world where everything hurt to see and full of people he loves very much. Those people are gone now though, and he’s home, a place where it’s dangerous to care so much. A place that’d fill the Spider-Man with daylight if he didn’t keep on his toes and stop caring so much. 

So he heads for ‘Licia because she’s frank with her words and she’ll never pull a punch. And when he drops down heavy on her window sill, boots slipping and sliding like a real boob on ice, she’s there. Mask fitted tight, eyes angry and bright. She’s there, throwing open the window and almost sending him tumbling down.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hisses, not caring about the winter chill seeping into her room. Not caring that he’s clinging to her wall by slipping fingertips. Her voice’s as throaty as he remembers, as full and real, and her eyes are the same grey as always, vicious and narrowed but the same. Benjamin knows she’ll push him off if he sticks around for no reason, no good reason, and he shivers as he hovers there.

“I was…out of town and just got back and uh…how are you doing?” and the words are shot, bleeding out in an alley. Just like him.

“How’s it look,  _ Petey _ ?” there’s so much venom in her words that he flinches back, skids down the wall. 

And Peter Benjamin looks at her, really takes a look. Her hair’s done up, as white as ever, clean and soft, and he remembers when she’d let him run his fingers through. When she’d sigh and lean into his touch and he’d kiss her like he’d never get another chance. Hair’s done up and she’s wearing a dress he doesn’t recognise, something slinky and ginchy and perfect for the Black Cat. Licia’s a looker, even if she’s got that mask now and a nasty sneer more often’n not.

Benjamin looks and what he sees is a woman who doesn’t want him, same as before he left. He looks and he sees the world he lives in, dark and dangerous and lonely. He looks and he sees the woman he loved— _ loves _ —and he sees what he did to her, what their  _ world  _ did to her.

“Looks about as good as I feel,” he laughs but there’s no humour there, “g’night, Ms Hardy.”

* * *

“Black skies and blacker moods’re par the course for the Big Apple, there’s always a crime to stop, always a scheme ta bust, and there’s only one fella for the job,  _ Spider-Cop _ ,” Peter growls, creeping through the shadows that might or might not actually be shadows, he’s not sure. Everything here is black on black, maybe some greys and whites in there but most of the time it’s just Void. 

He’s dressed head to toe in the stuff, black streaker coat, black turtleneck pulled up high and black hat pulled down low, gloves, pants, shoes; he even stole a grey scarf from MJ, and he still doesn’t fit in. Somehow his black isn’t dark enough, his grey  _ shimmers _ , and even with makeup his skin is still too warm for this place. So, he finds himself a nice bunch of shadows and slinks through those instead.

“He’s hunting someone tonight. Benjamin cut contact a week ago, and Spider-Cop’s worried, Benjy-boy’s one of old timers, a real veteran of the city. Spidey’s lost without that…dude?”

Yeah okay, maybe he needs to work on his 30’s slang more but he really thinks he’s getting somewhere. He’ll have to ask Benjamin when he finds him,  _ when _ , not  ** _if_ ** . Peter won’t consider  _ not _ finding Benjamin, Peni’d be devastated and Ham would go…ham, and everybody else would join in. They'd tear 1930's New York limb from limb and Peter's not sure he'd try to stop them. 

“It’s been three months since Big Bang 2: Kingpin’s Reality Warping Boogaloo and Spider-Cop’s gotten real attached to these rookies. He said he was done but these punks keep dragging him back in.”

He drops down on Benjamin’s roof and crouches in a shadow. Peter doesn’t think he’ll find the guy inside, Benjamin would’ve heard him coming and met him, but it’s a good place to start. Because he’s worried; Benjamin was never all that active in their new inter-dimensional group chat but he’s been MIA for a solid seven days.

A whole week without their edgy, detective Spider and  _ everyone’s  _ worried. The others would’ve come too but it’s harder for them to make the jump to Benjamin’s universe. So, Pe— _ Spider-Cop _ gets assigned the case.

“Benjy-boy’s been distant this last month, distracted, and the whole station’s worried. Spider-Cop’s gotta find him before things get… ** _sticky_ ** .” 

He snorts as he crawls down the wall, still in the shadow, and peaks into Benjamin’s window. The place is small, cramped, but it’s neat, although Benjamin might just not have enough things to clutter the space with. Which is…sad, there’s a desk up against the window, a tiny little kitchenette, and a bed, and that’s about it. No chairs or tables, no couch, not even a side table for his bed.

Peter’s viciously reminded of his college dorm, back when he was barely making enough money to feed himself  _ and _ be Spider-Man. And sure, rationally he knows Benjamin’s living through one of the poorest times in their country’s history, but he doesn’t think he got it until now. Maybe later he can do something about all the space in there but for now, there’s no coat hung up by the door, no patched-at-the-elbows-winter coat, and Peter knows where to go.

“Spider-Cop had a hunch, a friend of Benjy-boy’s that’s nearby, and with the scent fresh in his nose, he’s _off_,” he grunts as he kicks off and goes flying into the sky. From up high, he gets a good look at old timey NYC, all the buildings are so short here,  _ squat _ , but Peter gets around just fine. Swinging isn’t really efficient so he takes to the rooftops, jumping and rolling and flipping like he hasn’t in a long time.

Maybe the somersaults are just for show but it makes him feel good, keeps him warm in the tail end of winter. And now he’s worried about how Benjamin deals with the cold. Peter’s got heaters in the suit he’s wearing under his black clothes, Miles has May helping him, Gwen has a winter suit, and Peter doesn’t think it snows where Peni and Ham are.

Benjamin though, he’s in the 30’s when tech wasn’t as sleek, or cheap, he might just make do with his coat. Peter makes a note about that too and drops down into an alley, listening for anything close by, before he strolls out to the street. He walks the last half block.

In his New York, this place is a seedy bar run by a guy named Weasel and the clientele are usually mercs looking for quick work. When he was just starting, he’d bust the place every other day and get himself beat black’n blue. These days, he stops by once a month to make sure the killings get taken outside his city; it’s the little victories.

In Benjamin’s universe, it’s a diner. It’s got a glass front with a chip in the corner and booths that creak when people sit in them. There’s a jukebox that doesn’t play the last five songs and the tables are always sticky but it’s nicer than Weasel’s place. The owner though, well, he’s probably part of the universe’s whole “ _ Dunk on Parkers _ ” campaign.

“Oh me oh my, is that the Spider-Man in my humble establishment?” Wade— _ 1930’s-maybe-not-Deadpool-yet Wade _ —sing songs as Peter takes his hat off. The diner’s never full, not when Peter comes by, so there’s no one there to gawk at his colours. Wade doesn’t gawk, never has, and Peter’s not ready to ask  _ why _ yet. It’s Wade Wilson, that’s enough for now.

“Hey Wade, Benjy here?” he asks, because it’s better to ask than go looking. Inside the diner is darker than outside, more shadows that might not be shadows. He’s gone stumbling through and fallen flat on his ass before,  _ some _ reflexes. Wade’s laughed at him mercilessly every time, even Benjamin cracks a smile when Peter hits a wall. Maybe a couple laughs would help keep things light, but he doesn’t think so, not when Wade motions him close.

“Back corner, he’s uh…” Wade wiggles a grey hand and grimaces, and Peter understands. There’s no way to explain Benjamin sometimes.

“Just sort him out, okay? He’s my best busboy,” Wade says but he slides over two egg-creams, always on the house. Peter doesn’t know if this Wade is like all the other ones— _ crazy, unhinged, dangerously  _ ** _homicidal_ ** —but he cares about Benjamin, a lot. If he thinks something’s up, then there’s definitely something wrong and Peter’s not sure he’s the guy for the job. But there’s no one else so he’s gotta deal with it anyway. Yay.

“I’ll do my best,” he promises, scooping up the egg-creams and heading for the back booth. He hears Wade mess around with a couple more things behind the counter before he ducks into the backroom, giving them some privacy.

Then it’s just Peter, and Benjamin. Benjamin who doesn’t look up when Peter plops a glass down in front of him and slides into the seat opposite. Benjamin who’s dressed down for once, hair sleek and styled back, eyes hidden away behind huge glasses. Benjamin who’s barely twenty-two and already a veteran of the Big Apple.

Peter sighs and takes a seat, wincing when the booth creaks. Benjamin keeps looking out the glass front, chin propped on his hand and looking so much younger than Peter ever remembers being. There’re no crows feet at the corners of his eyes, no deep set frown lines, no grey hairs that shine silver in the light.

Instead, there’s dark bags and sunken cheeks. Benjamin doesn’t lose the mask much but he’s not shy without it, he doesn’t use it like a crutch— _ like Peter does _ —. Benjy’s got scars across those sunken cheeks, slim and translucent grey, and there’s a crook in his nose where it’s been broken. Maybe he’s not toting around the years but Benjamin’s definitely got some city miles on him.

He’s not a kid like Miles and Gwen and Peni, or a cartoon like Ham, he’s a man, like Peter. He’s a man doing his best to keep a city that hates him from falling apart. He’s a man that’s snagging one of the egg-creams and slurping dejectedly.

“You got a Ms Hardy, Pete?” Benjamin asks, eyes glued on the window, and Peter…he uh. He blanks. Hardy,  _ Felicia Hardy _ , is a memory. She’s  _ long _ gone; got tired of the game they played, and moved on. Maybe six years ago? Peter doesn't remember the day, he just remembers the look on her face when she told him it was over, they were _through_, and she hoped he had a good life with his pretty little red head. 

And that...stung—_stings_. Still stings. Felicia's a mistake he made and kept making and it wasn't fair to her, or MJ, or him, but Peter has to live with it now. He doesn't got much of a choice. Felicia's in the wind and Peter's not gonna find her unless she _wants_ to be found. 

“Mine ah—we’re not on speaking terms,” he says and sounds only a little hurt. Benjamin snorts, lips twitching, but Peter can hear his teeth grinding together.

“Dames, am I right?” Benjamin slurs, quiet and sad, “tear the heart right outta ya chest and eat it in front’a ya.”

It starts raining outside and the drops go splatting on the glass, a dull white noise between them. Peter doesn’t know what to say, how to make Benjamin feel better about this, cause it’s…it’s Feicia. He'll never get over  _ his _ Felicia and he's got MJ and the whole spider-crew. Benjamin’s got it harder than he did.

“She told me to find a nice doll ta settle down with,” Benjamin says and Peter stiffens...oh. Different dimension, different time, same conversation. 

“Listen, I get it—” Peter starts with a sigh.

“I think I did—” Benjamin mutters nearly under his breath. 

…what?

“Wait, you found someone and you…you don’t want to talk to us anymore?” the words are hesitant, shaky, because that’s how Peter feels. Benjamin is…he’s…Benjamin. He’s part of the gang, he  _ loves _ them. Peter doesn't know what he'd say if he went back home and told the kids Benjamin didn't want them anymore.

“Not talk to—you’re all I have!” Benjamin splutters, eyes wide behind those glasses. Wide with confusion and fear and  _ panic _ . Gut deep panic that’s got Peter’s blood spiking in sympathy.

“You’re all I have but you’re not from around here, and I got used ta it. I—I got used to feeling good around you,” Benjamin mutters, fingers digging into the table between them. Peter…doesn’t know what to say, how to comfort, he’s always been terrible at it.

He knows a good mentor would say something, maybe calm Benjamin down, tell him things would be okay, but Peter can’t. He can’t find the words, can’t find his voice, can’t do anything but stare at wide grey eyes. G-d, Benjamin’s so young, so damn young.

“But only with you fellas, cause my world’s not like that, but this doll, this dame, she...” he trails off, glancing out the window at the rain that’s really coming down. He doesn’t have his hat tonight, or his high collared coat, but he still looks like something right out of a detective movie. Sitting there in black and white, big glasses reflecting the light while the lamppost outside throws the shadow of rain drops across his face. He’s the new PI on the scene, hot shot from outta town, and Peter really feels like the old veteran cop.

He’s seen it all, done it all, and he’s gotta help the young blood through it.

“Her name’s Marion Joan and she is the finest dish in all’a Manhattan. She makes me  _ hopeful _ , Pete,” Benjamin whispers, lips trembling, eyes closed.

Peter doesn’t think, he just does. He gets out of the booth and gets back in, on Benjamin’s side this time. A little angling, a little shuffling and he hugs Benjamin. An awkward hug because the booth isn’t that big and they’re both grown men, but Benjamin doesn’t fight it and that’s the important part.

He leans into Peter’s touch, wraps his arms around Peter’s waist as best he can, and holds on tight. Holds on like he’s afraid this hug is the only thing keeping him on planet earth, which Peter gets. Even before the interdimensional thing, sometimes his life was  _ that _ weird. And confusing, and felt like he was doing everything wrong, and when he finally found a woman that loved him, he thought it was falling apart.

All of this is probably worse for Benjamin, like a lot of stuff is. Peter’s always had people in his life but Benjamin doesn’t— _ didn’t _ . He had Felicia, then he didn’t, he was alone but now he’s got the gang, and this Marion Joan, and it’s too much. No wonder the guy went quiet for a week. 

“Y’know, I panicked when I met my MJ. I thought I was doing something wrong, but I wasn’t, and neither are you,” Peter says, quiet because he doesn’t think there’s any other way to say this. No other way to make sure it sounds right.

“You’re allowed to be happy, Benjy, and you’re allowed to have more than five people in your life,” he mumbles, and now he’s staring out the window while Benjamin hugs him tighter.

“It’s okay to fall apart or be hopeful, and ask your friends for help,” he says. There’s nothing else to say after that, words won’t make this better, but they’re a start. In the quiet of the diner, Peter can hear Benjamin’s sniffles, but pretends he can’t. He hears Wade peak in, but doesn’t look up, and when Benjamin stops sniffling, he hands him the other egg-cream. 

Outside the rain falls and thunder rumbles, distant and far away. The rain drops slap the glass with a vengeance, casting wild shadows, and neither of them moves. Benjamin tucks his face into the crook of Peter’s shoulder and stays like that, breathes slow and steady, but definitely awake. Peter shifts until he’s comfortable and stares out the window.

Spider-Cop always gets his guy; crooks, rookies, old-timers, he’ll get ‘em. He got Benjy-boy, snatched him right out of the jaws of depression and hopelessness, n’ when the rain stops, he’ll take ‘im back to the rookies. They’re a great buncha kids, and pig; they’ll sort out this old-timer, and Spider-Cop’ll be there to help.

Cause he’s the best at what he does.


End file.
